


Ablaze

by yehetmeup



Category: GOT7
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 02:42:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16925016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yehetmeup/pseuds/yehetmeup
Summary: They called you “Ice Queen” all throughout elementary school. Even now, as a graduate student, the nickname still stings. As if your inability to feel heat means you’re cold-hearted too. You decide to pursue a degree in Biochemistry, desperate to figure out the reason why you are the way you are. Mark Tuan, everyone’s favorite hotshot professor, can pass his hand through an open flame due to a similar inability. Until the day you walk into his class, that is.





	Ablaze

A light breeze blows across campus, rustling the leaves above you, making you huddle further into your coat. Mid-September and the weather is still warm and sunny. Or you guess it must be, considering how many students are sitting together, studying or talking on blankets spread out on the quad’s lawn.

You guess it must be warm, because you’ve never felt warmth in your life. It’s not to say you’re freezing cold all the time; if you fill the bathtub with hot water you can almost feel… something. A flicker of the sensation your sister and parents have tried to describe time and time again. 

Cold, now that’s something you can feel. Snow, ice, the freezing rain that falls in the evenings here in the late winter – those you are intimately familiar with.

You hold out your hand as you walk across campus, watching the light fall on your skin in patterns. Frowning at the lack of sensation, you clench your fist and stick your hands back in your pockets. When it’s warm like this you just feel… an absence. A void where you know something should be, like a phantom limb; the aching sensation of nothing.

A buzzing in your pocket draws your attention and you pull your phone out to a message from your friend Kelly.

[Kelly 1:15pm] running a little late because of who I am as a person  
[Kelly 1:15pm] save me a seat???

You smirk to yourself. She’s likely running a little late because of her boyfriend, Adam. But boyfriend seems like too small of a word to convey their relationship. He’s her soulmate. They’re in the lucky 3-5% of the population that’s found their biologically fated match.

You had watched in amazement as Kelly’s ability to taste sweetness had come to life just after winter break, one afternoon in the cafeteria during your junior year of high school. 

You were sitting next to her, chatting with some of your other friends, when suddenly she dropped the cookie she was eating. She’d turned to you with wide eyes, reflexively bringing her hand to her lips in awe.

“What is it, Kel?” you’d asked, concerned.

“I – it’s – I think I can taste this…” she’d said, staring at it with such concentration it could have been a bomb about to go off. She’d licked her lips and sat up in her seat, whipping her head around.

You’d both turned to look at the other kids in the cafeteria. You saw him instantly - a new boy was standing at the cashier, paying for his food. He picked up his tray and lifted his eyes, sweeping the room to find a spot to sit. Kelly, in her usual exuberance, had stood up and waved him over.

He furrowed his brow, turning to look behind him for a moment, thinking she was waving to someone else. Once he realized she was motioning to him he’d given her a cute smile and come over, taking the spot across from Kelly and introducing himself.

“So – what’s your deficiency?” she’d asked the moment he said his name, staring him down.

“God, Kelly. No one uses that word any more. It’s not PC. My mom says we’re supposed to use ‘inability.’” Laura had said with a condescending tone.

“Whatever,” Kelly had said, waving Laura off. “What’s your inability, then, new boy?”

He’d stuttered, clearly unaccustomed to discussing something so sensitive in such a bold way. “Oh – umm, well I can’t taste salty things,” Adam had said in a low voice.

“Laura, give me some of your chips,” Kelly had said, snatching the bag and handing it across the table to Adam. “She always buys these super salty chips, can you taste them?” she’d demanded.

Adam had looked at her like she was crazy, but with a shake of his head he’d shrugged and popped one in his mouth. He had chewed thoughtfully for a moment before his eyes had gone wide and he started nodding furiously.

“Holy shit,” he’d whispered loudly. “Wait – how did you know?”

She’d grinned mischievously at him, holding his gaze as she picks up her discarded cookie and takes another bite.

“Well new boy, until today I couldn’t taste sweetness. I guess that means we’re soulmates, huh?” she’d said matter-of-factly.

They’d been inseparable from that day on. They were one of only six other confirmed matches in your high school, they’d had the test done just before graduation. It was something new the government was working on, a blood test to confirm the presence of a matching chemical, supposedly only released between soulmates.

[Y/N 1:17pm] god I’d say get a room but I have a feeling you’re just coming from one   
[Kelly 1:17pm] ha freaking ha   
[Y/N 1:18pm] *sigh* fineee I’ll save you a seat  
[Kelly 1:18pm] you’re the best  
[Kelly 1:19pm] when you find your soul mate I’ll cover for you too ;)

You smirk as you click the phone off, sliding it back into your pocket. The steps to the science building are packing with students flooding out of classes, excitedly heading out into the sunshine. You’re delighted to be doing the opposite – to be heading into your first two hour lecture for The Science of Soul Mates.

Kelly is taking the class for fun, you’re required to do 20 credits of upper level seminars for your Biochemistry Master’s degree. This course is newly offered by Professor Mark Tuan. It’s open to any student on campus, so even Kelly, an MFA student in creative writing wanted to sign up. The interest in the class was apparently through the roof and you’d both only gotten seats because you have priority registration as graduate students.

You pull open the heavy doors and head up to the second floor to the lecture hall. The room is just starting to fill up and about half of the hundred or so seats are filled. You head to your preferred spot near the back of the small auditorium, finding a space in the middle of the row and setting your bag next to you to save Kelly’s seat.

She rushes in five minutes before the class is supposed to start. You smother a smile as she sits down with a sigh. She turns to look at you and notices your barely contained laughter.

“What?” she demands as she pulls her laptop out from her bag.

You lean over and fix the strands of hair that had fallen into her face. “You had sex hair, Kels,” you laugh.

She groans. “Oh my god, I’m going to kill Adam. He was supposed to make sure I looked presentable.”

“Well I’d say he failed spectacularly at that,” you say with a wry smile as you make a new Google doc on your Drive, getting ready to take notes. “I am so excited for this class, you don’t even know.”

“You’re such a nerd, why do I hang out with you?” Kelly asks with a laugh.

“Because you love me. And how are you not freaking out? His research is groundbreaking, I’m dying to hear what he’s found,” you say. 

Ever since you decided to pursue Biochemistry as a profession you’ve been hearing his name, reading his published articles. You’ve been anxiously waiting for a chance to talk to him about your theories.

“Yeah, I hear he’s some genius prodigy. Adam says the University president was thrilled that he agreed to teach here, said that it was ‘the get of the century.’ He got his doctorate at what, twenty four?” she says, amazed.

“Twenty three, he’s been doing research this last year,” you reply automatically. “I just hope that everyone isn’t just signing up for this class because he’s supposedly gorgeous,” you say with a frown, looking around at the overwhelming number of female students in the class.

“Supposedly? You mean you haven’t seen him around campus this week?” Kelly asks, raising a brow at you. You shake your head. “Well girl, you are in for a treat. He’s better than gorgeous – he’s hot as fuck,” she says with a knowing grin. 

You open your mouth to chastise her but she cuts you off. “Yes, I know he has a heat inability, but hey, it’s true. I think I’d burn myself just touching him,” she says dramatically, shaking her hand and wincing as if she was in pain.

You shake your head and turn your attention back to your computer, a wave of guilt washing over you. His inability to feel heat has made him a legend - every interview and feature article loves to use a pun about it. 

Yours on the other hand had made you a pariah. You’d made the decision to lie about it after sixth grade, so Kelly had no idea what your true weakness was.

Ever since Ben Mezrich had called you “Ice Queen” in the cafeteria and poured scalding hot, or so you’d been told, soup down your back you’d decided it was better to keep the truth to yourself. You forced your parents to let you go to a public school for high school and had started telling everyone that you couldn’t taste bitterness – it was laughably easy to fake.

In the decades since humanity had noticed these sensory deprivations evolving, myths had started to form. Can’t see certain colors? You must be narrow-minded. Can’t feel cold? Must be a hothead. Can’t feel heat? Well, then you must not have a heart. Even all these years later you still feel a shudder of fear and shame at the nasty names and rumors that had spread about you.

You see a movement in the front of class and look up to see a man walk into class. He sets his bag on the table and looks around at the now packed auditorium, an easy smile on his handsome face. You look over at Kelly and she’s dramatically raising her eyebrows at you. She’s right – he’s gorgeous.

His messy blonde hair falls into his eyes and his face is classically handsome in an almost painful way. He wears a thick grey coat similar to yours. Kelly always makes fun of you for your warm clothes and you dodge her questions as casually as you can. You always brush her off, saying that you just run cold.

The buzzing of discussion quiets down as he moves around to the front of the class, leaning casually back against the desk and looking up into the room.

“Hello and welcome, everyone. I assume you know who I am, but I’ll introduce myself in case any of you wandered in here by accident,” he says in a conversational tone. A ripple of laughter goes through the crowd. This is supposedly his first class, but he acts like he’s been doing this for years.

“I’m Mark Tuan, but I’ll fail you automatically if you try to call me Mr. Tuan,” he says gamely. “Please, it’s Mark. And while I’ll be doing a lot of talking and presenting in this class, I really want it to be a discussion. The concept of a biological soulmate is just now being seriously studied, and as far as I’m concerned, we’re in this together.”

He folds his arms across his chest, his coat falling open. You can’t help but notice how strong and lean his body looks in the grey sweater and dark jeans he wears. “Now, I suppose the first question in this sort of class is – have any of you met your soulmate?”

Everyone looks around, whispering excitedly. Kelly raises her hand, confident as always, unconcerned that she has a hundred people looking at her. Two other girls raise their hands as well, toward the front of the room.

“Excellent, would you mind telling us about it?” he asks, pointing to the first girl, a hungry look in his eyes. “How you met, what your inabilities are, if you’ve had the official test? Whatever you’re comfortable sharing.”

She goes on to detail how she and her partner met last year at a party. The next girl goes, saying that she met her soul mate at a soccer tournament out of state. Kelly goes last, sharing her story, a sweet smile coming to her lips as she finishes and you know she’s thinking about Adam and the happy years they’ve had together so far.

Several of the girls in the class are looking starry-eyed, wistful smiles on their lips as they treat these three stories as confirmation of the fairy tales they’ve been told about soulmates all their lives. You roll your eyes, drawing Mark’s attention. He quirks and eyebrow up at you and you quickly look down at your laptop, pretending like you are typing.

“Fantastic, thanks so much for sharing. We’re right on par with the rest of the world,” he says, pacing back and forth in front of the class as he speaks. “As far as recent studies can tell, approximately three to five percent of the population has found their soulmate, and of that about half have had the government supplied blood test to confirm it.”

“But beyond that – there are so many unanswered questions,” he turns to look up into the stands, his gaze lands on you. 

You fidget as he gives you a lopsided smile, his eyes holding yours for a long second before moving on. Your coat suddenly feels too heavy. You slip it off your shoulders and shrug out of it as he continues.

“So. What do we know for sure? As far as we can tell everyone has just one soulmate. There have been a few reports of people finding a second, but none have been confirmed using the test. The chemical that’s secreted into the blood stream, affectionately known by us in the field as Cupid X, rises in proximity to one’s soul mate, accompanied by a scientifically verifiable reversal of one’s inability.”

“Over the past year I’ve been working with confirmed soulmate couples, testing how this reversal is affected by prolonged proximity as opposed to separation. We’ve been able to pinpoint the distance at about a hundred feet. Further than that and it seems like there’s no effect.”

“It’s maddening, isn’t it? To think that you could pass within a football field’s length of your soulmate, somewhere out in the world – but completely miss them? Fate sure can be a bitch sometimes, can’t she?” he asks with a smirk.

“Anyways, back to the science, since that is why you’re here. I’m working with the University to set up more research with their funding, but the question remains – where do we go next? There’s so many paths we could go down,” he says, his eyes lighting up as they sweep the room. You unconsciously push the sleeves of your sweater up your arms as you lean forward, fascinated.

“For example - is there anyone in the world with two or more inabilities? Does everyone just have one? How does love come into play – does the emotional connection heighten the physical bond? What about the millions of couples who’ve fallen in love but aren’t soulmates? And is this merely a helpful hint from nature, or does this evolution in our genetics signify a larger change?”

He brings his arms out in front of him, gesturing emphatically. “But that’s why this science is so fascinating – there’s still so much that we don’t know. It’s only been in the last twenty or so years that the concept has even been on humanity’s radar; and only in the last ten or so that it’s been seriously studied.” 

He laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Sorry – I tend to get carried away. It looks like class is just about up, but before I assign you the reading allow me a demonstration,” he says, turning to pull something out of his bag on the desk.

“How many of you discovered your inability before you could speak?” he asks, pulling out a lighter.

A small handful of people raise their hands in assent. “Research shows that the vast majority of people, over seventy-five perfect, discover which sense is affected in elementary school, between the ages of five and eight,” he says, holding up the lighter with a smirk.

“I discovered mine quite early, in the days before parents began obsessively running tests on newborns. When I was three years old I knocked a candle off the table. It fell on me, on my pants, lighting them instantly. My parents screamed, throwing me into the shower and turning on the water, trying to limit how bad the burns would be. But there wasn’t a mark on me. They said I didn’t even scream,” he says, trailing off as his eyes focus on the lighter in his hand.

With a cocky grin he flicks the lighter on. A small flame appears and he runs his hand through the flame, slowly, with the confidence of some who’s done it a thousand times. But when his hand brushes the top of the flame he gasps, hissing in pain, clutching his hand to his chest reflexively and dropping the lighter.

He stares at his hand in shock and fear. The red spot forming on the wide part of his palm near his pinky finger is visible even from your seat in the back. The class starts murmuring in confusion and speculation.

A sensation on your forehead draws your attention, an unusual itching feeling. You draw your finger across the skin there, trying to relieve it. When you pull your hand back you notice a drop of moisture on your finger. Your eyes go wide in realization – staring between the drop of sweat and Mark who’s still reeling in confusion up at the front.

You whip your head around to look at your coat, down at your exposed forearms from your rolled up sweater. The synapses in your brain finally connect these disparate facts, the realization slamming into you like a freight train.

“Oh shit,” you whisper to yourself.

“What’s that?” Kelly asks, leaning over to you, her gaze still drawn to Mark at the front of the class.

“Nothing, I think I’m getting sick, that’s all,” you say in what you hope is a casual tone of voice.

A moment later, Mark composes himself. “I promise I didn’t do that just for dramatic effect,” he starts, valiantly trying to contain his surprise but obviously still reeling. “I guess I’ve come to the right place. It seems like I might just be in that three to five percent after all…” he say softly, trailing off. He turns the wrist on his non-burned hand, looking at his watch.

“Anyways, class is almost up and I’ve got to go and find some burn cream it looks like,” he says with a laugh. “Read the first three chapters in your text and complete the attached prompt on page seventy-nine for our next class,” he finishes. 

Everyone starts grabbing backpacks, shuffling papers, and standing, moving toward the door.

“I’ve got to meet up with my study group, see you later Kels?” you lie, avoiding her eyes, desperate to get out of the room.

She gives you a surprised look, but nods after a beat. You forcefully shove your laptop into your bag and pick up your coat in a rush. Standing abruptly, you move down the aisle and start down the steps, hugging the wall as you try to stay far away from Mark on your way out the door.

Once you reach the front of the building you push open the doors and step into the sunlight, holding your hands out in front of you. You stare in awe as you feel a sensation on the skin of your palms… something new, something wholly unexpected. Your eyes go misty and you tilt your head up to look at the sun, still visible high on the horizon.

“Huh. So this is heat,” you say softly to yourself. Tears spill down your cheeks, hastened by the swirling emotions inside of you – excitement, fear, relief, confusion, anger. With a shake of your head you dash down the steps toward your apartment. 

Even after the last student leaves class, he still stands there, brow furrowed, staring at the bright red burn on his hand. He’s done that little parlor trick for years. In high school to impress his friends, in college to impress girls. The wound still stings, but he can’t make himself move.

Suddenly his rational mind kicks into gear – studies haven’t yet found how long one needs to be in the presence of their soulmate for the inability to fade, or how quickly the effect fades after exposure. It could have been someone in line ahead of him at Starbucks while he was catching up with a friend that morning. It could have been a visiting lecturer he passed in the halls. He doesn’t know how long he has.

Abruptly he turns, picking up the lighter and shoving it in his bag, slinging it over his shoulder as he runs from the room. He sprints across campus, his bag smacking into his hip with every step. He distantly notices that he feels something on his skin where it’s exposed to the setting sun. But he’s never been the type to bemoan the fact that he couldn’t enjoy the sun on days at the beach with his friends growing up.

Nor has he cared about missing out on hot chocolate, sitting in front of a fire on a cold winter night, or if he’s honest – the heat that was supposed to come from being with a lover. But there’s always been one fantasy of his that he desperately hopes he can fulfill before the effect fades.

He dashes up the steps to his apartment, throws open the door and kicks it shut behind him. He tears off his bag and kicks off his shoes as he moves to the bathroom. He rips the curtain back, twists the knob all the way to the left and turns the flow of water on. 

Steam fills the small room as he frantically pulls off his clothes – the mist in the air had always been an object before, something inanimate that barely deserved notice.

But as he inhales he knows that steam, that heat, is a living thing. It presses against his naked skin, envelops him in what he can finally recognize as warmth. Like a word in a foreign language, just out of reach beyond comprehension that he’s suddenly learned the meaning to. He tentatively reaches his hand under the spray, practically trembling in hope.

Relief rushes through him. A fierce surge of joy – it’s hot. He lets out a choked noise and steps in. He winces at the scalding temperature, but he couldn’t care less. He ducks his head under the flow of water, laughing in delight as the it runs down his face, his back. He stays there for countless minutes, lost in the pleasure.

When he finally pulls back he sits down on the floor of the shower, letting the water run over him. He holds his hands out in front of him, staring intently as the drops spill between his spread fingers.

His logical mind works first, as it always has. Who is his soulmate? Where did he meet you? How can he find you again? Does he even want to? Of course I do, he thinks with a shake of his head. 

How wonderfully unexpected that he, one of the leading experts in the world on the biochemistry of soulmates, had an experience like this of his own. He feels like he’s just discovered a new species, a new element, a new planet.

Then comes the longing; possibilities explode in his mind. The word soulmate has always been clinical – a fanciful description for a biological concept. But now he can’t help but wonder what it would be like to share his life with someone who was fated to be his. He wonders what it would be like to belong to someone, to have them be made for him and vice versa.

His attention returns to the water. The sensation is fading. The water is still hot, if the steam surrounding him is any indication, but he can no longer feel it. With a shake of his head he heaves himself off the floor and turns off the water. He grabs a towel and as he dries off he starts to formulate a plan.

Over the next days and weeks he keeps a log, he starts experimenting, recording.

He thinks back to everything he did that day and tries to recreate it. He visits that same Starbucks every morning for a week; lingering, waiting. But no dice. 

He follows the same pattern he took to class the same day of the week, staring up at the red brick buildings covered in ivy, wondering who you could be with a whistful smile. He wonders if he’s being silly; if the chance meeting was literally a once in a lifetime occurance.

But the sensation returns, over and over. At night he writes pages of notes, describing the rise and fall of heat - how quickly it comes on, how strong it is, how long it lasts. 

Two weeks into the quarter and he’s narrowed it down – it’s got to be someone in his class. The sense doesn’t come on at all during the other five days of the week.

The day of the seventh session of class he doesn’t leave his apartment except to go to science building. He wakes up at the crack of dawn and rushes over to his lab on the fifth level of the building, staying in his office until it’s time to go to class.

He carries a hot pack with him, the kind that stays warm for hours, tucked in his coat pocket. As the students file in he greets them with a nod of his head, his hand anxiously holding the pack in his pocket. The sense flares to life abruptly, unexpectedly and he grins broadly in triumph.

One hundred students, he thinks, scanning every face as they unpack backpacks, talk with each other. Three already have soulmates, he thinks, and unless he’s a statistical anomaly it’s unlikely that he’s matched with someone who’s already found theirs.

Thirty one are male students. There are plenty of documented cases of same sex soulmates being found, but he has a theory that a person’s sexuality comes into play. He’s almost positive that the attraction will be matched between partners, and as he’s straight, he’s confident that his partner will be female.

So that leaves sixty six. Sixty six possibilities. As he looks from face to face he meets a lot of eager faces, coy smiles trying to catch his eye. Game on, he thinks, his mind already filling with ideas on how he can narrow it down.

For the next several weeks you manage to avoid Mark Tuan outside of class. You wait in the women’s room before it starts, always giving Kelly some excuse of why you keep coming in right at the last second. The second class ends you push your way out the door, some excuse on your lips. 

After your initial emotional reaction, you’ve decided on anger. How dare this man be your soulmate? If you had told anyone about this, Kelly for instance, you would have described this turn of events as ‘highly inconvenient.’ How are you supposed to ask him your questions, tell him your theories now?

Fed up after you turn down her third offer this week to hang out, Kelly barges into your apartment and drags you out of your unintentional isolation to go to a party with her and Adam. 

As the night goes on you relax. You drink awful rum and cokes, laugh at Adam’s endearingly bad jokes, and talk with Kelly about the other classes she’s taking for her MFA. For a few hours you forget all about Mark Tuan.

“Holy shit - Ice Queen? Is that you?” a male voice calls off to your right abruptly.

Turning your head you see a tall, burly man making his way through the crowd do you. “Oh fuck,” you say out loud and Kelly swivels her head in his direction.

Ben Mezrich. Even here, at college - on the other side of the state - you can’t escape him. He’s broader, his hair buzz cut short. Mark’s words on the first day of class come back to you. Fate, you bitch, you think sarcastically, your lips twisting into a savage smile.

He finally reaches you, putting his hand on your shoulder, either not realizing how intrusive the motion is or not caring in his drunken state. “What are you doing here?” he slurs.

“I go to school here, Ben,” you say flatly. “What about you?”

“Oh, I work here. My girlfriend got me a job at her dad’s bank downtown. So, are you still a frigid bitch?” he asks, sloppily waggling his eyebrows up and down as he brazenly check you out.

Your forced smile drops, your eyes turning hard as you stare him down. He gets bored after a moment, as if your silence renders you invisible to him, and with a shrug he turns around and blunders back through the crowd to his friends.

Kelly puts a hand on your arm, turning you to face her. “Y/N, what was that all about?” she says, not unkindly, with an inquisitive raise of her brow. “Why was that asshole calling you ‘ice queen’?”

You sigh and take a large sip of your drink. “Kels, you know how I always said I can’t taste bitterness?” She nods. “Well, that’s kind of… a lie. Guys like Ben used to pick on me growing up; all those myths about heat deficiency meaning you’re a ‘cold robot’ got to them.”

You tell her the story of the awful day with the soup. “I just wanted to be someone else for a while, so I lied. I’m sorry,” you say when it’s over, staring down into your cup.

She clicks her tongue and you look up cautiously. “God, you think I care about that? Inabilities are totally your private business, I’d never hold it against you for not telling me,” she says, giving you a warm smile and squeezing your arm.

“But holy shit, was that why you ran out of class that day? Why you’ve been avoiding people like the plague? Did your sense come back? Is Mark fucking Tuan your soulmate?” she yells, her excitement bubbling over.

You sigh dramatically and down the rest of your drink. “I think he might be,” you say noncommittally, looking anywhere but her face.

“Wait wait wait. Why haven’t you told him?” she demands, her eyes wide with excitement.

You open your mouth to speak, but snap it shut. What can you say? That you’re afraid, that you’re pissed off, that you’re confused – all of your life plans thrown out of whack?

“Ugh, I was so focused coming into this degree. When I found out he’d be a professor, it was everything I wanted. Kick ass in his class, win a spot on his research team, spend my days working on this fascinating science,” you say. “But this recent development makes things… challenging.”

She gives you a teasing smirk. “I’ve never known you to be one to turn down a challenge,” she says, clinking her empty cup to yours.

You shake your head in amusement, a wry smile coming to your lips.

You decide to get creative. After class one day you just email him instead. You send him your latest theory about the soulmate bond developing out of an ideal combination of genes for procreation, asking his thoughts.

He responds an hour later with some articles he’s found on the offspring of confirmed soulmates, noting their higher intelligence ratings. You counter with a study that found no noticeable difference in the intelligence, physical abilities, or attractiveness of the children of soulmates.

You end up emailing back and forth for hours, late into the night. His mind is fascinating, the way he pushes you to consider other ideas, the disparate sources he draws from. He’s incredibly well read, curious, and open-minded – he doesn’t ever turn down your ideas, he considers them thoroughly, fairly.

Against your better judgment, you like him even more. You roll your neck, standing to grab a cup of tea. As you stir, your mind wanders to how he looked today.

The connection, the rise in heat, is instant, for both of you it seems. You come to class bundled up but now you’ve come to expect the rush of heat and take off your layers as soon as you sit down. 

He does the same. Today he’d come to class and pulled off his coat, revealing narrow fitting slacks and a tight, deep blue button-up shirt. He looked so good you almost broke your pen in half in a rush of frustration and desire.

You shake your head to yourself as you walk back to your spot. This soulmate thing is entertaining at least, you think. You fold your leg up underneath you on the couch, taking a sip as you wait for his reply. The message comes through a moment later.

Why don’t you stay after class tomorrow and we can discuss this further?

“Shit,” you say to yourself.

“Just do it,” Kelly stage whispers in your ear the next day while you both wait on the stairs for people to file out in front of you.

“No,” you reply with a swift shake of your head. You’ve already decided not to talk to him, leaving his email unanswered. Besides, there are tons of people in this class, there’s no way he can know which one you are, you tell yourself.

A tightness comes to your chest as you stand there, willing the students in front of you to move faster. You tap your foot nervously. The secret you carry, that you’re his soulmate, feels like it’s clawing at your throat. As if it’s going to burst from your lips if you don’t keep your focus every second you’re around him. 

Finally, the line starts moving.

Kelly pauses by the door, rummaging in her purse, people flowing out the door around you two. “Hey babe, can you hold this for a sec?” she asks, holding her coffee thermos out.

“Sure,” you say, your eyes darting back and forth anxiously between her and where Mark is putting papers back in his briefcase. You reach out and distractedly take her metal travel mug.

“Ahh,” you hiss loudly, wincing in surprise as your bare palm touches the hot metal of the container. You barely manage to avoid dropping it, bringing your other hand up to clasp it as well.

Your eyes meet with Mark’s as he looks up in alarm at your noise of alarm. You close your eyes tightly for a moment, then open them to look at Kelly in disapproval. She’s abandoned the pretense of taking something out of her bag and has folded her arms, giving you a smug look of satisfaction.

“Oh, sorry about that Y/N. I keep forgetting,” she says dramatically with feigned casualness.

You tear your gaze away from Mark and stare daggers at her. You thrust the thermos at her, grabbing her arm in yours and steering her toward the door. Panic rises in you, you hope that he didn’t notice. But damn him, he’s too quick and observant for his own good.

“Wait – you have a heat deficiency, too?” he calls from behind you and you reluctantly turn around.

“Well she did,” Kelly says slowly with a smirk. “Until the beginning of your class.” She winks at you and pushes out the door.

It closes with a soft thud, leaving you and Mark alone in the room together. You regard each other, keeping your distance. He looks you up and down appreciatively, as if he can’t believe you’re real.

“It’s been you this whole time?” he says, incredulous, looking you up and down. “Wait, you’re not the Y/N that was messaging me last night too, are you?”

You nod slowly. “Wow, beautiful and intelligent too, I think I won the soulmate lottery,” he says with a wide, lazy grin.

You scoff. “Just because I’m your soulmate doesn’t mean I’m automatically going to sleep with you,” you deadpan, feeling feisty at being reminded of the fact that you’re supposedly fated to be together. “You don’t have to try to charm me.”

He bursts out laughing, bending over at his waist. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your lips. Against your better judgment, you finally accept that you like him. He doesn’t have to know that, though, you think.

“And devastatingly sassy, too. I love you already,” he says as he straightens up, his face still alight with amusement. “This is so surreal. Do you want to go get a drink?”

You let out a laugh and shrug. “Sure, why not?”

“So, about your latest theory – where did you find your source, that article about the different ethnic groups study?” he asks, walking over to hold the door open for you.

You pick up the thread of the conversation, grateful that he doesn’t push you to talk about a potential relationship, or whatever it would be between you two. He chooses a restaurant down the street and you both order burgers and beer, bouncing ideas back and forth at a rapid pace.

He’s even more charming and articulate in person, you think as you take a sip, watching him as he relates his colleague’s idea about the differences and similarities in chemical reaction between soulmates and confirmed non-soulmates that are in love.

He’s even more attractive up close, you think with a sigh. You wonder if it’s like this for other people, for those non-soulmates who love each other. If they’re drawn to each other this viscerally. 

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. The closest thing you can relate it to is the studies you’ve read about addiction. That the more you ingest something – sugar, caffeine, heroin – the more that you crave it.

You’re suddenly afraid of needing him, of wanting something that intensely. 

You take a huge sip of your drink. The feelings rising in you for him, both physical and emotional, feel ominous, terrifying. Like a tsunami that you can feel in your bones is coming, but that you yet spot on the horizon.

“So, have you had sex before? How was it for you?” he asks curiously. You look up abruptly, startled out of your thoughts by his question.

There’s a devilish look in his eyes that tells you he’s acutely aware of the line between academic and personal that he’s just crossed. You hesitate, hovering on the line, wondering if you should step across it with him. After a beat you decide to just go for it.

“Yes, with my boyfriend in college. It was… fine. I guess. Like it was physically pleasurable, but more like – a relaxing massage. Or that feeling of when you go over the top of a roller coaster, and you plummet down.”

He’s watching you curiously, toying the rim of his bottle against his lips. “But I’ve heard from Kelly that being with her soulmate, it’s… umm, more intense? In comparison. That’s what she says anyway,” you finish in a rush, refusing to meet his eyes.

“I’ve had similar experiences. I wonder how it would be between the two of us,” he says thoughtfully.

Your jaw drops, a flush coming to your cheeks. You press your hands against them, not used to the feeling of blood pumping there. As always, denial and anger are the safest places to land.

“Well, that’s not going to happen any time soon,” you say firmly and he laughs.

“I was just proposing an experiment. Out of scientific curiosity, of course,” he says with a smirk.

“Yeah, right,” you say sarcastically, picking up your burger to take another bite.

[Y/N 7:02pm] YOU ARE SUCH A BITCH OMFG  
[Y/N 7:02pm] why would you do that to me???  
[Kelly 7:03pm] god knows you were never going to do anything about it  
[Kelly 7:03pm] how did it go??? it’s been like  
[Kelly 7:03pm] over THREE HOURS  
[Kelly 7:03pm] what did you guys do??  
[Y/N 7:04pm] we just grabbed drinks together  
[Y/N 7:04pm] and we talked  
[Kelly 7:04pm] and??? 👀  
[Y/N 7:05pm] okay fine he hit on me  
[Y/N 7:05pm] but he also offered me an internship with his research team  
[Y/N 7:05pm] so like  
[Y/N 7:05pm] i’d say i broke even  
[Kelly 7:06pm] omfg  
[Kelly 7:06pm] YOU’RE WELCOMEEEEE  
[Y/N 7:07pm] okay but i still hate you  
[Kelly 7:07pm] whatever  
[Kelly 7:07pm] just remember that i have dibs on being maid of honor at your wedding 😘  
[Y/N 7:08pm] i hate you so much

You manage to resist for two weeks. 

Fourteen days is as long as you can manage before your burning curiosity finally breaks you. Fourteen days of getting lost in the way his mouth carefully forms each word as he speaks. Fourteen days of biting your lip, turning away when he meets your eye in class, or during a meeting in the lab. 

Two weeks, that felt like they lasted a millennia.

It started your first day at the lab, his official ‘welcome’ handshake when you met the team lingering just a second too long – his gaze holding yours a beat longer than necessary. 

Next, it escalated to small touches. A brush of your waist as he reached for the next stack of interviews. His arm grazing yours as he leaned over you to grab a new set of slides for the next sample. His knee touching yours under the table repeatedly whenever you grab lunch or dinner together.

It’s the way he looks when you catch him staring at you, a hunger in his eyes that makes your skin feel too tight. You’re sure you must look the same, as you sneak in glances at him while his back is turned.

His infuriating smile tells you that he knows exactly what he’s doing; testing you, testing himself. Pushing you both until you’re strung so tight you feel like he could breathe on you and you’d fall apart.

Tonight is another late night, everyone else went home hours ago. You’re bouncing from foot to foot, trying to keep your focus as you enter more data into the spreadsheets. He moves to the microscope next to you, his hand trailing across your lower back as he moves, leaving a trail of fire even through the layer of your shirt.

You sigh pointedly, but his hand remains. It was never like this, with the men before him. You never lost your focus, never wanted any of them so badly you could taste it. Your need for him threatens to drag you under, to bury you with the weight of its intensity.

“Mark,” you say firmly, closing your eyes briefly, steeling yourself against the heat building in you at his touch. He looks up from his microscope, raising his eyebrows in attention, his hand frozen in place low on your back.

“Hmm?” he asks, feigning innocence. “Did you need something?”

“You know damn well what I need,” you grit out between your teeth, dropping your eyes to stare meaningfully at his hand on you.

“Yes. I do. Because I need it too,” he says in a low voice, deliberately misunderstanding you. He stands up fully, moving his body in front of yours.

He rests his hands on the counter on either side of you, his face inches from yours. This close you can’t hide your feelings for him; you know your desperate want is broadcast across your face. His smug smile fades, melts away into something softer, sweeter.

“But if you don’t want me, I’ll drop it. I just – I’ve never felt like this before. Physically. Emotionally. It’s like I can only breathe when I’m touching you, and every second I spend away from you is a shallow breath,” he says, barely above a whisper.

“It’s fascinating really, reading about this, and now experiencing it,” he says with a soft laugh. “I always thought they were exaggerating the pull. But now I think they might have been underselling it.”

You let out a shaky breath, furrowing your brow as you scan his face. Has it really only been a few weeks since you saw him for the first time? It feels like you’ve been wanting him, craving him, for decades. Your heart rate kicks up as you realize you can feel his body heat in the narrow space between you.

He lifts a hand, bringing it to cup your jaw. His thumb traces a lazy trail across your cheek, his eyes following the motion in awe. You know what he’s feeling. There’s something magnetic between you, it’s overwhelming - the way that your connection feels destined, fated.

“Is it always like this?” you wonder aloud softly. “Between soulmates. In your interviews, have you ever found a pair that doesn’t feel this…. chemistry?” Your lips twist into a wry grin. His eyes flare in awareness as he processes what you’re saying, arousal pooling between your legs at the intensity that comes to his gaze.

“I mean, maybe we should put it to the test. For science,” you continue, tentatively bringing your hands up to rest on his hips. Without intending to, your fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt, your body automatically moving to pull him closer before your mind catches up.

His other hand leaves the counter, coming to rest along the curve of your waist, fitting perfectly as if it belongs there. He leans forward carefully, pressing his body flush against yours. You both inhale sharply at the contact. It makes you wonder how you ever lived with the absence of him against you, now that you know what it feels like to have him here in front of you, wanting you.

His closeness seems to heighten not just your ability to feel heat, but your other senses as well. This close, you breathe in the faint hint of his musky cologne. This close, colors seem richer; the red of his lips, the deep brown of his eyes. This close, you can almost taste him, and you lick your lips at the thought.

He groans, a low gravelly sound in this throat, as he follows the motion of your tongue. He moves his hand, tilting your head up toward him. Your lips part unconsciously in anticipation. 

“For science, huh?” he says, grinning.

You nod, smirking at him, straightening your back and moving your mouth close to his. “We are scientists, after all. I’d say it’s our duty.”

“Absolutely,” he breathes against your lips. He brings his mouth against yours, enveloping you in his arms. Your lips land slightly off center, mirroring how you feel, thrown out of yourself at the intensity of feeling. As he presses against you, sliding his lips along yours gently, you feel as if your world has been knocked sideways.

He pulls back and a moan leaves you at the absence, feeling bereft without his lips on yours. You lift your hands to his neck, pulling him fiercely against you, slanting your lips against his. He groans into your mouth, pressing you into the counter with his hips.

The hand on your back flexes, brushing up the fabric of your shirt and sliding along your bare skin. He swallows the whine that leaves your throat and you can feel him hardening against your thigh. The sudden rush of desire that rises in your core leaves you breathless.

As he works his mouth against yours his hand slides around to the front, brushing along your waist. You cling to him desperately, feeling unmoored as you drown in want, holding onto him as the only solid thing you can find. When his fingers graze the underside of your breast you open your mouth in surprise.

He smirks against you, taking the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, pressing it along yours as his thumb finds your sensitive nipple over the fabric of your bra. You grip his shirt in your hands, fisting the material, trying to keep yourself together. He pulls back again, breathing heavily.

“Do you want to go all the way with this?” he asks, his hips rocking into yours, his erection brushing against your sensitive core.

You bite your lip, trying to find a rational reason to say no and finding none. You release your lip with a gasp, grinding your hips against him in response. “Yes, god yes,” you breathe.

He smirks against you, pulling your lower lip into his mouth as his hands drop to work on his belt. Now that you’ve given in fully to your desire for him, you can’t contain it. You undress each other in a flurry of clothes and lips and hands, ending up naked, pressed against each other, leaning on the counter.

He dips his hand between your legs and you gasp as he trails a finger through your folds. He grins, finding you wet and ready. A possessive gleam comes to his eyes as he slides a finger into you, watching as you close your eyes with a sigh. He crooks his finger, rubbing against that sensitive spot on your inner walls and you tilt your head up to give him a challenging stare.

He laughs and bends down to recapture your lips. After a minute he’s so hard it hurts. Unable to wait any longer, he grips your thigh, pulling your leg over his hip and positioning himself at the entrance.

Suddenly he shakes his head with a laugh. “Jesus, what was I thinking. Hang on, I have a condom somewhere,” he says and sets your leg down.

You turn, leaning against the counter on your elbows, grinning as you watch him run around the lab in the nude. “It’s nice to know you’re as affected as I am,” you say with a laugh. “I can’t think straight when you’re around.”

He laughs, glancing over at you with a grin as he digs in a drawer. “You know, I was a very organized person before you came into my life.”

“I know what you mean,” you laugh, a warmth rushing through your body that has nothing to do with lust, and all to do with another four letter l word.

He disappears into his office and emerges triumphant, holding up a condom. He rips open the package and sheathes himself. His hot gaze runs up and down your body, considering.

“You know, I think I’m going to need both my hands with you,” he says with a wicked grin. Looking around he sees a folding chair in the corner, its back against the wall. He sits down and motions you over, crooking his finger at you with a wink. “Come here.”

You walk over, spreading your legs on either side of him. His hands run up your thighs, coming to grip the flesh of your ass. You reach a hand down to grab him, positioning him against you. 

As you ease down you can’t help the moan that escapes you. Needy whines leave you as his cock stretches you out. A warmth builds in you as you slide down onto him that blows away anything you’ve felt before.

He groans, his hands gripping your thighs as you adjust to the feeling of him inside you. After a beat, he starts moving. Rocking his hips, he moves within you, pushing and pulling your hips, his fingers digging into your skin. 

You press your heels into the floor, tilting back to rest your hands against his legs for purchase. You swirl your hips, circling around him as he slides you back and forth on his cock. The friction is so delicious you smother a scream.

He drops his head to the wall with a thud, watching you through hooded eyes. “Has it ever felt like this for you?” he asks, his voice straining.

You laugh. “Ever the scientist. No, god. It’s never been this good before.”

A sheen of sweat comes to his brow and you grin, knowing that your skin is just as flushed. You shake your head, your mouth falling open as he snaps his hips up, driving himself into you suddenly. You hold yourself there, above him, as he thrusts into you deeply.

“Fuck, it’s too much,” you say between desperate breaths. “I feel like I’m being burned alive,” you pant, throwing your head back.

He bends back, opening up space so he can reach between you. In a rush he brings a hand to your clit, his thumb stroking you in frantic circles. His lips find the delicate joining of your neck and shoulder and he licks along it. His breath ghosts along your skin, his muffled groans turning you on more than you thought was possible.

Gently he bites down, barely pressing his teeth against your skin. But along with his bucking hips and the motion of his hand, it’s enough to send you over the edge. Your nails dig into his shoulders as you come, clinging to him as the pleasure bursts forth - more intense than you’ve ever felt, with the accompanying explosion of warmth in your core.

After a beat he sits up, wrapping an arm low across back and one across your shoulders. He rocks into you at a rapid pace, chasing his own completion. The movement pulls at your sensitive core, the aftershocks of your own orgasm making you gasp against him. He lets out a strangled moan, panting against your skin as he comes. Even after he stills he keeps his tight hold on you, not wanting to let you go just yet.

You rest your forehead against his shoulder, turning so you face his neck, inhaling his scent. You sit there in each others arms, a messy tangle of limbs and hair and lips, until your breathing finally slows. His hand runs a lazy path up and down your back as he holds you to him, the other cupping your neck as you rest against him. A growing cramp in your hip eventually forces you to sit up and readjust.

“Want to head to my place and do this again?” he asks, his eyes alight with happiness, holding your head in both of his hands.

“God, yes,” you say with a giddy laugh, leaning forward to kiss him again.

You wake in his bed, in his arms, and you think back to last night. He’d made love to you again,; softer, slower the second time. His weight on top of you, steady and grounding, as he thrust into you. His mouth against your neck, trailing hot open mouthed kisses against the skin there. Endearments and praise had spilled from his lips as you found your completion together in the darkness.

You blink, still in disbelief that it had really happened - it felt like a dream. But his body, molded to yours under the sheets, reassures you that it was real.

In movies this is the end, this is where you fall headfirst in love. An easy slide, and that’s it – happily ever after. But instead you feel off-kilter, as if you can’t firmly grasp the threads of your life. The warmth of his body, of the bed, is lulling you into a life you’re not sure you can handle.

In the morning light, things suddenly seem… messy. The carefully laid out life you’ve built for yourself feels like it’s crumbling. Fear and panic rise in you and all at once want to leave. You want to run, now. 

You slide out of his arms gently, making sure not to wake him. In the dim light you dress and grab your things, heading out into the cold streets. You shiver and burrow closer into your coat, the cold air mocking you and your cowardice.

You manage not to see him for days, holing up in your apartment. He emails you, multiple times, wanting to know where you went, what’s wrong. But you leave them unanswered, unable to find the words to articulate the complex swirl of emotions and thoughts in your mind. Unsure how to reconcile the seemingly opposite desires in your heart – for him, and for peace, order; for a life where you belong only to yourself.

Now that it’s late fall the temperature has dropped. You can see your breath as you venture out to quickly grab groceries. The cool air, the lack of warmth, taunts you. But you resist, upset again that nature has forced this on you. This bond, this intensity, that you never asked for. 

You miss him everywhere. Your bed feels empty, the water in the shower has returned to it’s bland sensation. The accompanying rush of heat you’d become used to whenever you think of his hands, his lips, has vanished. 

His absence is almost more painful than his presence, but you stubbornly cling to the hope that you might be able to function without him.

You call out sick from your internship on Friday, thankfully getting another person on the phone and not Mark. You skip his class the following Tuesday. You ask Kelly to get you the homework and share her notes with you. She does, because she loves you. But she also knows that something is wrong the moment you ask her.

She knocks on your door later that night. “I know you’re in there, Y/N. You’d better open up or I’m going to break this door down,” she says with as much sternness as she can muster.

You crack open the door, giving her a sheepish smile as she strides into the apartment. “What’s going on with you?” she demands, folding her arms.

You shut the door with a sigh, turning to rest your back against it. “We slept together,” you blurt out.

Her jaw drops. “Oh my god, you finally gave in,” she says excitedly. “How was it? Tell me everything! I can’t fucking believe you didn’t call me like, the second after you came,” she says and you laugh out loud.

“It was incredible. I’ve never felt like that, ever. It was like I was being consumed by a wildfire. Like my very blood was going to burn,” you say, desperately willing your body to recall the sensations. You sigh in frustration when you realize you can’t.

She raises her eyebrows, holding out her hands. “So? What’s the problem? I feel like I’m missing something.”

“Kels, I can’t do this – it’s – it’s too much. Everything about this is just too much for me,” you say, bringing your thumb to your lips, chewing on the skin nervously. “Do you think it’s because of the soulmate bond… or is it because I lo-” you snap your mouth closed as if you could stifle your feelings.

“Wait – what did you just say,” she presses, a predatory look coming to her eye. She points her finger at you and you know you’re screwed. “You were about to say you love him, weren’t you?”

You cover your face with your hands. “Maybe?” you admit weakly. With a groan you drop your hands. “But how do I handle this, Kels? The way he was looking at me that night, it was so open and trusting. What do I do with that kind of power over someone? And I’ve been a wreck since I met him too. How do I cope with the fact that he has so much influence over me, it’s infuriating,” you say dejectedly.

She grins, coming over to run her hands up and down your arms soothingly. “Babe, that’s love. It’s absolutely fucking terrifying. But it’s so worth it, too. You have to give him a chance, even if you’re afraid of trusting him – trust me. I wouldn’t lie to you. And if you give it a shot, I think it’ll be better than you can imagine. But if it all goes to hell, I’ll be here for you then too,” she finishes softly, holding your gaze as you feel your eyes go misty.

You let out a shaky breath. “I can try. But what if I hurt him? What if –” you start but she claps her hand over your mouth.

She tilts her head, giving you a gentle but stern look. “You can’t know what’s going to happen in the future. But you have to at least try, okay?”

After a beat you nod and she cautiously lowers her hand. “I think you have somewhere to be, don’t you?”

“You’re right,” you say, a nervous excitement building in your stomach as you think about what you’re going to have to do.

“That’s my girl,” she says. “Now where’s that black skirt I’ve always wanted to see you in?” she says excitedly as she rushes over to your closet. You laugh and wrap your arms around yourself, smiling to yourself.

The lab is quiet, as it always is this late at night. He’s at his computer when you walk in and he turns to look at you, his eyes widening as he drinks you in. He stands up in a rush, coming over to you, stopping a few paces away, hesitating.

“It’s only been a few days, but it feels like an eternity since I saw you last,” he says with a laugh. “How do people handle this?” he muses, waving a hand between the two of you.

You grin and shrug. “I don’t know. I handled it by freaking out and running away, so I’m probably not the best person to ask,” you say, carefully watching his reaction.

He gives you a lopsided smile, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Ah. Is that what was going on? I was worried I’d pushed you too far. If you didn’t come to class on Thursday I was going to send out a search party,” he says with a smirk. “Or, more accurately, I was going to ask your friend where you were.”

You rock forward on your heels nervously. “So you still… want me, even after I left?” you ask softly.

He takes a step toward you, then another, until he’s inches away. His hands come to your waist, as if he can’t bear to wait another second to touch you. 

“Y/N, it’s going to take more than that to drive me away,” he says earnestly. “I was freaked out too. It’s a lot to handle, everything we feel. But I’m willing to try and figure it out with you, if you still want me, too.”

You let out a laugh, finally looking up to meet his gaze. “‘If I want you too’? Do you really not know how much I want you? How much I think about you? You turned my world upside down and I have to focus all the time just to think about anything but you,” you say, smiling up at him.

He bites his lip as his mouth twists into a lopsided grin. “Well, you did leave me in bed all alone…” he says teasingly.

Your jaw drops in indignation and you scoff. “I guess I’ll just have to find some way to make it up to you, then,” you say seductively.

He bends down, his lips hovering over yours. “Mmm, I look forward to it,” he says with a wink.

You lean up on your toes, sealing your lips over his, pulling yourself against him. His hands wrap securely around your waist, holding you tight. He smiles against your lips, and you feverishly hope that he never lets you go.


End file.
